


God's Ineffable Angel-Repopulation Plan

by sleepymoon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, God Ships Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Idiots in Love, Kid Fic, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mpreg, Mpreg but not strictly speaking, Parents Aziraphale and Crowley (Good Omens), non-graphic birth scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 02:23:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20283832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepymoon/pseuds/sleepymoon
Summary: After the failed Apocalypse, he and Crowley had spent two blissful years enjoying their newfound freedom to the fullest, far, far away from the clutches of their respective head offices. This had meant many dinners at the Ritz, afternoon brunches in cosy little cafés, long strolls in the park to go feed the ducks, and even longer nights spent in Aziraphale's bookshop, drinking bottle after bottle of incredibly expensive wine and discussing everything from the hedgehog's dilemma to the new sushi restaurant in Camden Town. They had even went for a picnic, on one memorable occasion. It had all been rather splendid.Aziraphale had started to convince himself that this could really be his future for the next millennia to come, but one cold January morning, as all good things come to an end, he had been formally summoned Upstairs. Or, to be more accurate, Gabriel and Michael had materialised in the bookshop as he was about to open and kidnapped him. He had expected to meet his untimely end, not to be ushered into a room full of zealous, enthused angels to watch a poorly done presentation and hear words like, "Heaven's necessary repopulation," "immaculate conception," "angelic compatibility."





	God's Ineffable Angel-Repopulation Plan

**Author's Note:**

> I read the book so many years ago that I'm embarrassed to say I only remember, like, 20% of it. This fic is almost entirely based on the TV show, which I fell in love with pretty much from the start. And what do I do when I fall in love with a new ship? I write mpreg for them. Gosh, I am _so_ predictable. 
> 
> Many thanks to [VeraBAdler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeraBAdler) for betaing.

Crowley had once described horses as a major design flaw.

While this is not wholly untrue, horses, in Aziraphale's very humble opinion, are not even nearly as bad as various other torments that were inflicted upon humanity. Childbirth, just to name one example. Not that Crowley would have any first-hand experience with childbirth, of course (he had only delivered the Antichrist after all, not _delivered-delivered_ him).

Now, Aziraphale could have happily claimed the very same thing, just three hours prior to this.

However, at the moment, considering that he's right in the middle of this awful childbirth predicament, he could definitely offer some rather helpful commentary to the Almighty and whoever else had been in charge of the decision at the time. Something along the lines of, "What were you all bloody thinking, you vicious, sadistic bastards?" and so on, more of the same.

Aziraphale knows that he really shouldn't be judging the Almighty's ineffable angel-repopulation plan, but there are tears streaming down his cheeks, pooling wet and sticky into his collarbone, and he's delirious enough with pain that he can't bring himself to feel any guilt over it.

Angels are beings of love, they are not built to endure this kind of suffering.

If only he could hold someone's hand, _Crowley's_ hand, he thinks desperately, maybe it would make everything more bearable, but the demon is on Earth, light-years away from him, sprawled on black satin sheets and probably drooling in his sleep. Aziraphale is not one for cursing, but he would gladly do it now, were he not too occupied screaming.

After the failed Apocalypse, he and Crowley had spent two blissful years enjoying their newfound freedom to the fullest, far, far away from the clutches of their respective head offices. This had meant many dinners at the Ritz, afternoon brunches in cosy little cafés, long strolls in the park to go feed the ducks, and even longer nights spent in Aziraphale's bookshop, drinking bottle after bottle of incredibly expensive wine and discussing everything from the hedgehog's dilemma to the new sushi restaurant in Camden Town. They had even went for a picnic, on one memorable occasion.

It had all been rather splendid.

Aziraphale had started to convince himself that this could really be his future for the next millennia to come, but one cold January morning, as all good things come to an end, he had been formally summoned Upstairs. Or, to be more accurate, Gabriel and Michael had materialised in the bookshop as he was about to open and kidnapped him. He had expected to meet his untimely end, not to be ushered into a room full of zealous, enthused angels to watch a poorly done presentation and hear words like, "Heaven's necessary repopulation," "immaculate conception," "angelic compatibility."

"God has spoken, Aziraphale," Uriel had told him with a sly smile. "I hope your demon boyfriend won't take it too badly."

"Surely you must see that this is complete madness!" Aziraphale had cried.

"Your whining will not get you out of it this time. It is already done."

In the handful of times Aziraphale had ever considered the possibility of making The Effort, he would never have guessed that in the end the reason he would actually do it would be to grow a fully functional reproductive system in order to push a newborn angel out of it.

When he had told Crowley the news, expecting to receive at least some measure of solidarity from the demon, Crowley had simply hung up on him and gone to sleep.

Aziraphale had went to his apartment the very same day and found him hibernating under piles of blankets, a clear sign that he would not be waking up anytime soon. A century or so, perhaps, considering the last time Aziraphale had seen him in a similar state. He had not known precisely what to expect from his adversary-turned-friend, but it hadn't been this.

Aziraphale had been disappointed, yes, but he had still visited the demon's flat at least once a week to check on him and to water the plants. They were not to blame for their owner's ridiculous antics, after all.

It had been lonely without him, and Aziraphale had avoided going to the Ritz or any of their usual hangouts by himself, knowing he would have ended up missing him too much and the meal would have been spoiled.

The canonical nine months had ticked by slowly, between an overindulgence of cravings and long lists of baby names to pick from. Parenthood had been thrust upon him without any say on his part, but as the child grew, Aziraphale had started to warm up to the idea and made all the necessary preparations for the arrival of his bundle of joy.

Angels can't be born on Earth, because at the very least the energy released would result in a 9.0 earthquake and prompt tsunamis and other similar calamities all over the planet, which is the main reason why Aziraphale is now back in Heaven, surrounded by hostile faces. The angels who are supposed to be assisting him with the delivery, Nuriel and Zophiel, look like they would much rather cut off their own arms rather than help him in any way. No words of comfort have been offered yet, no trace of sympathy. They are not even touching him more than what is strictly necessary.

"I have better things to do with my time," gripes Zophiel, "than play the midwife for a traitor."

"Oh, I'm so terribly sorry," counters Aziraphale from between clenched teeth, "I'm sure I'm keeping you from the billionth rerun of The Sound of Music, aren't I?"

"Enough with your insolence!" exclaims Nuriel. "Zophiel is right. Just hurry up and get this over with."

Aziraphale squeezes his eyes shut and tries to hold back a sob, when suddenly the pressure in his middle reaches its peak, and a moment later a newborn's cry is resonating off the pristine white walls of the room.

He breaks into a wide, relieved smile, lifting his arms. "Let me see them, please."

When there's no reply, he looks up and sees the angels' stricken, horrified expressions.

"What's wrong? What is it?" Aziraphale asks, frantic.

"Don't touch it!" says Nuriel to her companion, grabbing his arm to pull him back. "Let's go. Let's go, I'm telling you. Whatever that thing is, it's certainly not an angel."

"But- then God must have intended for it to be that way. But why?"

"I don't know. I don't care! Let's get out of here, I can't stand the sight of it!"

In a blink they both vanish, leaving Aziraphale alone.

He sits up with a pained grimace and reaches for the baby, pulling it up against his chest, where he finally sees for himself what has alarmed the two angels so much to make them flee the room.

"Oh, dear," he says.

*

Crowley is used to waking up from his years-long naps well rested and bright-eyed, but this time something feels very off because he wakes up drowsy and in an extremely pissy mood.

He checks the current date and time on his phone's calendar, does a quick math in his head and almost decides to go right back to sleep. There's a glass of water sitting on the bedside table that he knows he never put there. Also, his plants not only are not dead, but they seem as luxurious as ever.

"Aziraphale," he sighs under his breath, caught somewhere between fond and long-suffering.

He drives the Bentley all the way to the bookshop, crosses the street, then proceeds to ignore the “Closed” sign and casually saunters inside, the chiming of the bell on the door announcing his entrance.

As soon as he takes one step in, he freezes on the spot because Aziraphale is standing right there in the middle of the room. He looks exactly the same as ten months before, so much that Crowley could almost pretend the whole baby thing never happened, if it weren't for the fact that the angel is holding a feeding bottle in his left hand.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale cries, quickly recovering from his own shock. "My dear, I was not expecting you to wake up so soon."

It takes Crowley a few seconds to detach his gaze from the bottle and meet Aziraphale's eyes.

"Uh, should I- come back later?" he ventures, making as if to turn his back and leave.

"No, no! Of course not. Do come in. Make yourself at home, I was just-" he stops, seeming to realise only then that he's holding a baby bottle full of milk. "Right. I will be back in a moment, excuse me for a second." And he disappears into the back room.

Crowley hovers where he is, still debating whether or not to make a run for it, but finally settles for slouching back on the old couch in his preferred spot. Aziraphale comes back a few minutes later, minus the baby bottle but visibly fretting over something.

"So," Crowley starts, waving a hand in the angel's general direction but then finding he doesn't know how to continue.

"So," echoes back Aziraphale, taking his place on the opposite end of the couch and folding his hands together.

"You've... had it, then."

He watches the angel's face soften into a proud smile. "I did," he says. "He's wonderful."

Blimey, Crowley thinks. "Congratulations," he says instead. "We should have a drink to celebrate. Unless you swore off alcohol now that you're a responsible parent."

"What? Oh, no. Of course we can, just let me-" the angel miracles a coffee table in front of the couch, two wine glasses and a bottle of Chateau Lafite, along with three silver plates stacked with cheese fries, crab cakes, and salmon rolls, and a fourth one with butter cookies.

Crowley eagerly grabs the wine and pours them both a very generous amount.

"Cheers," he says, before downing the whole thing in one go.

"Are you going to...? You know," asks Crowley, as if the question implied was perfectly obvious.

To Aziraphale, it's anything but. "What?"

"You know. Keep it?"

"Of course I'm keeping him, Crowley. Each angel has been tasked with the upbringing of their offspring. And even if that weren't the case, I would still want to raise him."

The demon is nodding along before Aziraphale is even done talking. "Right. Right. No, I knew that. I was just double checking."

"Crowley," sighs Aziraphale, setting down his glass with a clink, "To be perfectly honest, I don't quite understand why this is making you so uncomfortable. I know for a fact that you are every bit as fond of Warlock and Adam as I am. You've always had a soft spot for children, and in our case there's something else that you should-" he trades off, shifting his eyes away, "In fact, I think you should come meet Nathaniel."

Crowley shoots up from the couch as if the cushion had bit him, and starts walking backwards toward the exit. "Yeah, actually, about that- I- I don't think that's a very good idea, angel. Besides, I've got so much stuff to do. Ten months of tempting to make up for, I'm sure you understand."

"Crowley," Aziraphale repeats calmly, but the warning is clear in his voice.

"Lovely name, Nathaniel, by the way," Crowley continues, pretending not to hear him, "Quite fitting, I'm sure, for an adorable little cherub. Lovely, yeah. I really have to go now."

"Crowley, stop. Please, we need to talk about this. It's important."

The demon shrugs, not meeting his eyes. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Well, obviously there is, if you felt like you had to go comatose the minute I told you I would be having a child."

Crowley's shoulders sag, and the demon seems to almost sway where he stands. He suddenly looks resigned. Defeated. Aziraphale reaches him and takes him by the elbow, leading him back toward the couch. "Do sit down, my dear. Here, try a biscuit. I promise they're scrumptious."

Aziraphale offers him the plate with a reassuring smile, but Crowley does not take a biscuit nor does he sit. He starts pacing back and forth instead, pulling on his carefully styled hair and muttering to himself.

"Okay, fine. Here goes nothing. If you want me to say it, I'll say it," Crowley finally bursts out with. "The day you told me what God had in store for you and every other angel, I was going to take you out for dinner. I had decided to tell you something important, and I had a whole speech planned, you see. I've got nothing against your tyke, angel. It was just bloody wretched timing, that's all."

Aziraphale blinks, his forehead creasing in a frown. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I have been waiting 6,000 years and an Almost-Apocalypse to tell you, and then-"

"To tell me what?"

Crowley sighs. "You know what, angel."

"Well, clearly I don't."

"You can't possibly be that dense, Aziraphale, come on. We both know what I'm talking about. Not that it matters anymore now."

Aziraphale bristles, giving Crowley a wounded look. "You said it was something important! How can it not matter anymore!" he argues. "We're here now, so just tell me!"

Crowley stares at the angel for a few seconds, his expression blank, then he covers his face with his hands, groaning. "Jesus, you _are_ that dense. I can't believe it," he whines in the direction of the ceiling.

Aziraphale crosses his arms over his chest, looking both put out and embarrassed in equal measure.

"My dear boy, if you think I'll simply stand here and be insulted, I'll-"

"Oh, to Hell with thisss," cuts him off Crowley with an irritated hiss, taking off his glasses and throwing them somewhere to his right. He takes two long strides toward Aziraphale, squeezes his cheeks between his hands and smashes their lips together. They do flounder a bit and almost topple to the floor, but they're an angel and a demon, and the laws of physics do not adhere to them as strictly as they do for other people, so they manage somehow to stay upright.

Aziraphale makes a small, pleased sound and parts his lips, kissing him back, and if Crowley weren't a demon he could have wept with how much and how long he has ached for this to happen.

"Oh. That felt nice," whispers the angel when they draw back, his mouth stretching into one of his fond, dazzling smiles.

"Yeah," Crowley whispers back. He has one hand curled possessively around Aziraphale's soft hip, while the other is playing with the white hair at the nape of his neck. Aziraphale heaves a happy sigh, wraps his fingers around Crowley's lapels and gets on his tiptoes to coax the demon into a second kiss. It does not take a lot of coaxing, or any at all, and this kiss lasts longer and is a lot less chaste than the first. It's as if Aziraphale's hands decided to move of their own volition because he feels them pulling urgently at Crowley's black shirt, trying to wrestle it out of his trousers. He wants to make The Effort for himself this time, because Crowley loves him and Aziraphale loves him back, because they have both been yearning in silence for 6,000 years, because, just as Crowley had said- wretched timing, right. None... none of it matters anymore.

Aziraphale shoves Crowley away with such force that he sends the demon crashing backwards into a small table, and the books piled on top of it tumble onto the floor.

Crowley slowly rights himself, snaps his fingers and the books are back into place, not a single page crinkled. "Look, angel. I'm sorry for putting you in a difficult position. It's best if I go."

Aziraphale's eyes are sombre and unspeakably sad. Crowley can't bear to look at them.

"So what you mean to tell me is that- for whatever reason, your feelings for me have changed, now that I had Nathaniel?"

"What!" Crowley cries, whipping his head back to stare at the angel in disbelief. "No! That's ridiculous! Of course not! The way _I_ feel is not the problem here."

"I don't get it. Are you saying that my feelings are the problem? Crowley, you can't be serious. You must know how much I care for you. I do love you, more than I ever thought possible."

"Thingsss are different now, Asssiraphale, whether you like it or not." Crowley's hissing always tends to grow more pronounced the more upset or emotional he gets, and his face is wrecked with anguish. "You birthed a baby angel. Ten monthsss ago you told me yourself that God intended you to raise it with itsss parent. And no matter how you feel about Heaven, I know you wouldn't defy God Herself, not with sssomething like thiss. Ssso, you sssee, there'sss really no place for me at your ssside, not anymore."

"Oh. Oh, Crowley, love, I'm so sorry. I should have- oh no," Aziraphale says, pulling the demon into a hug and kissing his cheekbones, his chin, his eyelids. "Please forgive me."

"There'sss nothing to forgive," murmurs the demon in reply, gently untangling himself from the angel's arms.

"No, no, but there is. I've been so stupid. Of course you would think that- oh, goodness. Don't move. Stay right where you are, please." Aziraphale walks briskly into the back section of his shop, only to return less than a minute later, no longer alone.

Crowley takes two steps back, almost tripping into his own feet. His eyes dart towards the door in a fit of panic.

"Angel, I told you, I c-can't-" he stammers, but a hand is closing around his wrist, trapping him on the spot with inhuman strength. Crowley could struggle against it, could put up a fight, but Aziraphale is in front of him cradling his kid, and Crowley would never risk hurting either of them. Despite his better judgement, he looks.

"Crowley, dear, this is Nathaniel," Aziraphale says in the softest voice, making sure that the demon can take a good look at the baby's face.

Crowley does not say anything for the longest time. Aziraphale starts fretting, biting down on his lip.

"Asssiraphale," Crowley finally whispers, his voice breaking, "Why do his eyes look like that?"

"He takes after his father, see? I was surprised, too. But God did say that She'd take the parents' compatibility into consideration for- oh, Crowley, my dear, please don't be mad at me. I was going to tell you, I swear. It's just- you caught me off guard coming to the bookshop today, and you were acting all weird and closed off, and- and then you kissed me. I- I got sidetracked. I truly am terribly sorry. You can't imagine how sorry I-"

"Asssiraphale, _sshut up,_" the demon seethes, eyes narrowing dangerously.

He lifts his arms toward the baby and Aziraphale wordlessly relinquishes his hold on their son, handing him over to Crowley. Nathaniel is wide awake, and his slitted pupils are studying Crowley with great interest. Aziraphale is about to reach out and caress the blond ringlets on Nathaniel's head, when Crowley steps away from him and goes to sit back on the couch; he curves his spine over Nathaniel's small body, softly touching their foreheads together. When it becomes apparent that they're not going to be moving anytime soon, Aziraphale clears his throat and says, to no one in particular, "Right. Jolly good. I'll put on some tea, then."

He could just miracle it up, but since he's mostly in need of something to occupy himself with, he does it the traditional way, waiting for the water to boil and the teabag to steep. He pours two full cups, but Crowley's one gets ignored and ends up getting cold. Crowley and Nathaniel are still communing with each other on the couch, the dimmed glow of the lamps casting them in a combination of lights and shadows, making them look like one of Caravaggio's paintings come to life.

Aziraphale, who's growing antsier by the minute, decides to calm his nerves with a bit of work and starts re-cataloguing his collection of rare Renaissance poetry. He gets so lost in the task that, when Crowley sidles up to him and carefully plucks the book he's holding from his hands, Aziraphale can't tell how much time has passed.

"He fell asleep," Crowley says, setting the book down on a nearby stool.

"What? Oh, I'll take him back to the nursery."

"Already done. By the way, the colour scheme is awful and it needs to change."

Aziraphale frowns, opening his mouth to ask what exactly is wrong with it, but Crowley is tipping his chin up and covering his lips with his own. Aziraphale hums into the kiss, nearly bursting with affection and relief, and lets the demon press him up against the bookshelf and ravage him to both their hearts' content.

Crowley is the first to pull away, taking a step back to put some space between them, his long fingers fixing the angel's collar for him, readjusting the bow tie. His expression is still carefully guarded, though.

"Does this mean I'm forgiven?" Aziraphale asks anxiously. "You know I can't stand it when you're mad at me."

"So, if I'm to be moving in, at least some of this clutter will have to go," Crowley announces instead. Aziraphale's mouth clicks shut. "We'll need to find a place for all my plants, and my bed, of course. I won't be sleeping in the monstrosity you have upstairs. I'll have to make a few adjustments to the outline of the house, possibly of the whole block, but you can leave that bit to me."

"Mo-moving in!" Aziraphale sputters, wide-eyed. Crowley juts his chin up, his lips thinning, almost daring him to disagree. Aziraphale knows he's treading on very thin ice here. While the thought of his nemesis-turned-friend-turned-lover living with him is more than a little jarring, Crowley obviously wants to be close to Nathaniel, which is only fair, and well, they did sort of proclaim their undying love for each other, so this does seem to be the next logical step. "That- sounds just marvellous, my dear."

Crowley seems appeased by the response and he finally relaxes, sagging forward and resting his forehead against Aziraphale's temple, then closing his eyes.

Aziraphale lifts his arms to circle Crowley's shoulders, pressing further into the embrace.

"I mean it, you know? I think it will be very nice having you around."

"Yeah?"

"You do have a tendency to scare away my most annoying customers, which I appreciate."

"Glad to be of service," Crowley grouses, voice thick with sarcasm.

"And I immensely enjoy your company. More than anyone else's," Aziraphale adds, his voice taking on a softer note. "I have missed you terribly."

He kisses the corner of Crowley's mouth when it stretches into an aching, remorseful grimace.

"I should have been there for you," the demon says, and there's no need to guess what he's referring to.

"Now, now, dearest. None of that. We both know that all is forgiven."

"It shouldn't be," tries to argue Crowley.

"But it is," retorts Aziraphale firmly. He takes Crowley's hand and starts to tug him once again in the direction of the couch, "Come on, it would be a crime to let all that wine and food go to waste, and we have so much to discuss. You can start with telling me your ideas for the nursery, if you want."

Crowley squeezes his fingers around the angel's, letting their warmth seep into him little by little.

"Yeah, okay. That sounds like a good plan."

*

_Epilogue_

Five weeks later, Aziraphale is standing next to the glass window of his shop, shifting through the mail he received as he patiently waits for his tea to be ready. It is very early in the morning and there aren't many people milling about on the streets yet. The mail is mostly composed of useless advertisements, which he's 99% sure he should be blaming Crowley for coming up with, but a stark white envelope with no post-stamps catches his attention and piques his curiosity.

He opens it carefully and finds a glossy picture inside, featuring the archangel Gabriel sporting a manic smile and showing off what Aziraphale assumes must be his new offspring.

As he tries to make sense of it, reasoning that most likely it's simply yet another way Gabriel found to be obnoxious, and he had probably sent an identical copy of it to every single angel in existence, Aziraphale feels Crowley approaching him from behind and peering down his shoulder at the picture. Crowley is holding Nathaniel against his side, and Aziraphale makes a funny face to make him laugh and leans in to kiss his tiny forehead. Then he kisses Crowley's mouth too, just because he wants to and he can.

"Good morning, my loves," he says cheerfully.

"That," drawls Crowley in lieu of answering, "is the ugliest baby I have ever seen."

Aziraphale tuts, throwing him a disapproving look. "Oh, don't be mean. All babies are beautiful."

Crowley actually has the nerve to "Pff!" at him.

"Most babies look like fat, hairless monkeys. That one certainly does."

Aziraphale looks down at the picture again. He has to admit, Gabriel's child would probably not win a baby beauty contest. "Is that so? Does that apply to our son, too?"

Crowley looks so offended that Aziraphale has to struggle to hold back a laugh.

"How dare you assk me that!" he hisses. "Nathaniel isss perfect."

Aziraphale smiles, taking a small sip of his tea. He miracles some custard creams, Crowley's favourites, and offers him one as peace offering.

"Can't really argue with that, now, can I?"


End file.
